


We Could Be Forgiven For Not Learning From Our Sins

by Aylwyyn228



Series: There was something taking care of me and you [8]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Video Game: Red Dead Redemption 2 (2018), Protective Hosea Matthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:15:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25791949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aylwyyn228/pseuds/Aylwyyn228
Summary: Hosea was woken by the screaming.An awful, animal sound...Set in the immediate aftermath of Blackwater.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Series: There was something taking care of me and you [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2090346
Comments: 6
Kudos: 65





	We Could Be Forgiven For Not Learning From Our Sins

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all! 
> 
> I can't quite remember all the character conversations regarding what happened in Blackwater, so this is as canon as I can make it. 
> 
> Title is once again from Laramie by Goodnight, Texas, which I still think is Dutch and Hosea's song.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy this little piece of misery! xxx

Hosea was woken by the screaming. 

For a heartbeat, he was years back. 

When he was a child, perhaps eleven years old, he’d wandered up into the hills behind his house and seen a rider thrown from the back of his appaloosa. The horse had spooked and streaked off into the trees to get caught by wolves or run itself off a cliff. The man though, the man had hit the dirt hard, and he musta landed crooked or somethin’ because Hosea could still remember the way, when he tried to sit up, his thigh shifted, limp and disconnected, like a rag doll. 

And Hosea still remembered the sound he made, sound that he didn’t know a man could make at all.

To call it a scream didn’t do full justice to it, but to this day, Hosea had never found any word that could compare. 

For weeks, he’d heard that sound in his dreams, knowin’, though his mother never said it outright, that that fella with the shattered hip didn’t live out the week. 

For a heartbeat, he was back, helpless as the man howled like a coyote caught in a trap, and then the walls around him fluttered back into canvas, and the years got behind him again. 

He lay there, breathing hard and willing his heart to calm its beating, wonderin’ what in hell had brought that dream back, and then that godawful howling shot through the night again, and an entirely different kind of horror gripped him. 

He threw himself to his feet, grabbing his gun belt by instinct, and stumbled out into the camp. Nearly fell clean over Susan in fact, who’d come rushing out of her own tent, shotgun held high. 

It took him a second to place what was happening in the dying firelight. 

And then he saw.

“Shit.” 

Jenny howled again as, between them, Karen and Javier dragged her forwards, their hands slipping as they tried to grasp at her blood-slick blouse. The front of her skirts were dark with it, and behind them, snorting and foaming, Karen’s grey mare was almost black.

They managed a couple of steps before she slipped entirely from their grip and the three of them crumpled to the ground. 

Karen and Javier were shoutin’, yellin’ for help and for a moment, Hosea could only stare in shock. 

From the look of their horses, they’d ridden like hell itself was on their tail. From the look of  _ them _ , a goddamn army was on their backs. 

Susan recovered quickest. “Reverend, up! Now, please!” 

Jenny let out another yowl and Susan clicked her tongue. “Shut her up, for Christ’s sake, she’ll bring all hell down on us. We’ll need water, I suppose, and bandages. Where in God’s name is that preacher?”

She thrust the shotgun out, and it was a second before Hosea realised she meant for him to take it. His fingers were shaking as they closed around the barrel, and the cold steel was enough of a catalyst to shake the numbness out of him. 

He slung it over his shoulder and sprinted forwards, closing the gap between himself and the trio slumped on the ground. 

“Lay her out flat,” he snapped, and helped to straighten out her legs. “That’s it.” 

Dark blood was bubbling out of the wound high on Jenny’s chest. Her scrabbling hands launched upwards and grabbed for his shirt. Without thinking, he closed his palm around the back of her hand, and made the mistake of meeting her eyes. 

They were as wide as any he’d seen, as wide as that poor fella howling in the dust nearly fifty years ago. And she was gasping, breathing in frantically. She hadn’t yet got that rattle in her lungs, the far away,  _ gone _ look that came just before… Not yet… but he’d seen enough of death to know… 

There was no returning from where she was. 

He disentangled her fingers from his shirt, from where they’d left smudged pink fingerprints against the cotton. He wrapped both of his hands around hers. Squeezed them tight. 

Karen was knelt by his side, her hands cupped around Jenny’s face, murmuring low words of comfort. Javier was stood a few feet back, holding his hair back from his face in wide-eyed horror. It’d come free from its ribbon, hanging loose around his shoulders. He was breathing near as hard as Jenny. 

He looked up, met Hosea’s eyes. “They knew we were coming.” 

And the sinking feeling in Hosea’s gut intensified. 

That damn ferry job was gonna be the death of them all, he’d told Dutch as much. Until he was damn near sick of hearing himself. Dutch never would listen. Never could be persuaded when he got these damn fool, flighty ideas in his head. 

Goddamn it, but he was gonna kill Dutch, if… 

If… 

Without thinking, he pawed at Karen’s arm until she took Jenny’s hand in hers, and launched himself upwards. He damn near stumbled over poor Jenny’s feet in his desperation. He grabbed Javier’s arm. “Where’s Dutch?... What… What about John? Where’s everyone else?” 

“I don’t know,” Javier shook his head. “We grabbed Jenny and… I didn’t… I didn’t see anyone else. We just… Jenny was down, and… and…” 

There were sudden hooves in the trees and Hosea all but shoved Javier behind him as he drew, but he barely even needed the moonlight to recognise his boy dismounting unsteadily. 

The campfire was burning high, casting flickering shadows over everything, but it was bright enough to see the look of stunned horror plastered across John’s face as he sought out Hosea. He almost stumbled the last couple of steps towards him, and Hosea reached out instinctively. Suddenly, they were both clinging to each other’s sleeves.

“Was a set up,” John said, raspy and breathless. “Knew we were comin’. Had to.”

Hosea gripped John tighter. “Where’s Dutch?” 

John shook his head, and for a second Hosea felt cold dread stop his heart dead. 

“Stayed out by the road,” John said, and took all the ice from Hosea’s chest. “With Micah. Tryin’ to round up everyone.” 

Hosea nodded. There were many missing. Bill. The Callander boys. The young kid, Lenny. Charles too. 

John squeezed his shoulder, and dragged his attention back. “Dutch, he… They said he shot a girl… They said… After Jenny went down… They said he just  _ shot _ her…” 

“But was  _ he _ alright? Is  _ Dutch _ alright?” 

John nodded. “He was when I left him. Told me to come back here, to warn you all.”

That made sense. If the law was as up in arms as it seemed, then they couldn’t linger. They’d have patrols out as soon as there was enough daylight to track. They needed to move at first light. 

“We need to get gone. Lose ourselves up in the hills, hole up til the weather breaks.” He smiled tightly, trying to force a confidence into John that he wasn’t feelin’ himself. “Go and start helpin’ pack up. We gotta be out of here by dawn.”

John nodded, but didn’t move, his eyes scanning over the scene behind them, where Hosea could feel the frantic energy of everyone gathering their things. “Arthur ain’t back?” 

“Ain’t seen him since this morning…” Hosea felt John's grip tighten. “He’ll be fine, John. Now go on. Go and see to your boy.” 

John nodded again, already moving. 

Hosea let him go. He turned back and… Oh.

Jenny had gone still… Oh, so tremendously still. 

Blood had collected in the hollow of her throat, and gone sticky and cloying. Something about her face had gone slack and loose. 

Hosea didn’t need to get another inch closer to her to know that she was gone. 

Her hair was still tightly braided, the way she always did before a job. Hosea had sat by the fire and watched her do it that morning. They’d talked, about nothing at all… he couldn’t even remember. 

He felt a pang of loss. One that would ache and ache in the coming days. 

He would miss her. 

He took a second to let himself feel it, knowing that there would be time enough later for proper grief. 

Or he would follow her into the ground and the grief would be someone else’s. 

He swallowed it down. They had to get moving. 

Javier had disappeared off somewhere, hopefully following John to go and help pack up.

Karen was knelt by Jenny, her blouse and her arms stained dark right up to the elbows. She still had one hand cupped loosely under Jenny’s jaw, the other squeezing her hand tight. 

He recognised the look, recognised the way shock was setting in, the fight and then the flight through the dark, with death on their heels. 

They couldn’t afford for Karen to sink into it now. They weren’t safe yet. 

Hosea crossed over to her, and placed a hand against her shoulder. 

“We ain’t got time to bury her now. We’ll put her in one of the wagons. Take her with us. Bury her properly.” He felt Karen nod, absently and tightened his grip against her. “Come on now, and get up. We need to get packed up and out of here.” 

He felt Karen shift, and look up at him. Her eyes were still dazed, exhausted, but something like resilience had settled across her as well. 

Hosea was glad that it was Karen that went into town with Dutch that morning, and not one of the younger women. She could handle herself with a gun as well as Jenny could, and she had some grit that was sadly lacking in other members of their little gang… and he was not necessarily describing the young girls. 

Karen nodded at him again, and dragged a hand across her nose. “I’m on it.” Her voice was wavery, but she seemed solid enough. 

She turned back to Jenny, and Hosea lost his grip on her shoulder as she leaned down. Hosea saw what she was going to do and looked away, not wanting to intrude on the privacy of her grief, as she pressed her lips against Jenny’s. 

He wondered if he had missed that, right under his nose, or if Karen had perhaps never managed to get any further than the mournful looks she occasionally sent Jenny’s way, when the attention from Bill or Micah was becoming particularly overwhelming. 

She would never get the chance now… 

Hosea very carefully let his mind go blank. It was practiced now, and almost easy, to turn off all of that feeling. He recognised the pit that could open up beneath him. It was less sharp than it had been once upon a time, but it still had the power to send him to the bottle… or sink him entirely… 

Perhaps one day he would let it. 

But not now. 

Not while he still had this gang. Not while he still had his boys. 

Not while Dutch still needed him strong.

Karen had finished whatever send off she had in mind, and tried to push herself up to her feet, legs getting tangled in her skirt where it’d pooled around her. 

Hosea offered his arm and let her pull herself unsteadily to her feet. 

For a moment, she just lingered there, then squeezed tight against his wrist. She didn’t say anything as she passed him, he knew that sincere words sometimes failed her, but he accepted that as her thanks. 

***

For the next half hour or so, Hosea busied himself with shoving his things into a pack. He usually kept a bag ready to go, filled with the things he couldn’t bear to lose. He’d been burnt like that before when he’d had to run in a hurry. He still lamented the loss of his mother’s letters, sent to him before she’d passed, and he wasn’t about to lose Bessie’s things. 

Now though, he had a little time to pack up his clothes and his razor, as well as a few of the supplies. 

He supposed they were going to have to lose a few of the tents. They were short some horses, lost to old age and accidents over the last couple of weeks, and not yet replaced. It looked like they may have lost a few more in the debacle in Blackwater. They’d have to leave one of the wagons at least, and another would have to carry poor Jenny… By God’s grace they wouldn’t have to give over any more space to the wounded or the dead… 

When he was finished with the things he could easily carry, he went out to help Pearson with their supplies, quickly growing irritated with the constant refrain that they wouldn’t have enough to last out the worst of the bad weather.

He was well aware of their situation, and didn’t need to be reminded by a goddamn idiot of a cook. 

It didn’t help that his mind wasn’t on the task, but out with Dutch, waiting on the road, so when there was a sudden clattering of hooves on the wind, Hosea dropped the pack he was carrying instantly, and strode out to meet them, hand on his pistol, just in case. 

After a second, a familiar white stallion came barrelling into camp, snorting misty breaths into the night air. Dutch’s face was hidden, homburg pulled down low over his eyes, but Hosea didn’t miss the way his hands, clutching too tightly at the reins, were shaking. 

Hosea scanned quickly over the rest of the troop that had followed Dutch in. Micah, for the first time not wearing that smug grin. Lenny, riding double behind Charles, who was holding one wrist gingerly to his chest, dark blood pouring slick down his sleeve. 

Christ, but they were all in bad shape. 

The Count was stamping impatiently, still snorting and tossing his head, and Hosea instinctively made a grab for his reins, since Dutch had made no move to dismount. 

“Go and get packed up,” Hosea snapped at the others, “we’re moving out at first light. Do you need Swanson?” he added to Charles, who was still favouring his right as he slid off Taima after Lenny. 

Charles just shook his head, mute. 

“Good, go on then, son.” He turned back to Dutch, still mounted, still unmoving. Hosea squeezed at his knee. “Dutch? Come on now.” 

Dutch was nodding vaguely. As he slid out of the saddle, Hosea thought for a second that his legs were goin’ to give out, reaching out as if he could catch him, but Dutch held firm. 

“I gotta…” Dutch said, with no indication that he intended to finish the thought. He was still clutching at the saddle and despite managing to keep his feet, Hosea wasn’t sure he could make it across camp under his own steam. 

Hosea grabbed for his arm, and tugged him a couple of steps back into the thick brush, back towards the creek that almost ringed the camp. Not enough that they were hidden if anyone needed them, but enough to give them a little privacy. 

“Dutch, what..?” 

Dutch still had his head dipped, like he could hide behind his hat forever, and it was so… unlike him. Christ, Dutch could front out God himself, and now… 

Hosea dragged the homburg right off his head, and tossed it to the ground. He reached up and cupped the back of his head, fingers tangling into the greasy curls at the nape of his neck and forcing him to look up. 

Dutch's eyes were wide, ringed with white like a spooked horse, the same as Jenny’s had been, and he had a streak of blood smeared up one cheek. A… a whole lot of blood actually… running down into his collar, matted into the side of his hair. 

"What in God's name happened?" 

Dutch didn't answer. 

Hosea tightened his grip in Dutch’s hair, enough to make him wince. "Dutch? Is it your blood? Is it  _ your _ blood?"

Dutch’s eyes settled on his, finally. He shook his head, and Hosea felt his heart ease ever so slightly. 

Dutch seemed to come back to himself a little. He lifted a shaking hand to rub at the blood caked to the side of his cheek. It didn’t budge. 

“Hold on.” Hosea squeezed the back of his neck again, and then released him.

He tugged the neckerchief from around his throat, and bent to wet it in the creek. He returned to Dutch and started rubbing at his cheek. The dried blood smeared, but came away easy enough. 

“What happened?” he asked again, making an effort to keep his voice as steady as his hand.

Dutch shook his head, then seemed to remember he needed to be still so Hosea could work. 

“They were waitin’ for us,” he said finally, his voice low and strained. “Must’ve… must’ve known we were comin’... I can’t… I don’t understand it…”

Hosea clicked his tongue, and angled Dutch’s face so he could get at the blood that’d run down his throat. “You think someone talked?” 

“I don’t… Who would have?” Dutch ducked his head back, away from Hosea’s rag. He caught Hosea’s wrists, grip hard and unyielding. “Jenny?” 

Hosea swallowed tightly. “Dead.” 

Dutch made a noise, deep in the back of his throat, but he wouldn’t let go of Hosea’s wrists so he could offer any comfort. He looked close to the edge of a precipice, and for a second Hosea was frightened. Not of him, never  _ of _ him, but Hosea had lived long enough to see enough men on the edge of the gaping chasm. 

Hell, he’d stared deep into it himself. 

“Dutch,” he tugged his hands free, and curled his fingers into the back of Dutch’s hair again, letting the familiar motion drag the two of them back again, “whose blood is it?” 

He dreaded the answer, who else they would be burying, who else could get Dutch into this state. The Callander boys had been with them a long time, so had Bill really… 

Hosea wouldn’t let himself think of who else was missing. Arthur surely wouldn’t have been anywhere near, not knowing that Dutch was running this job today. He couldn’t,  _ couldn’t _ have been anywhere near. 

“I…” Dutch began and faltered. “I didn’t mean to. I didn’t…” 

Hosea gripped him tighter. 

“There was a girl,” Dutch carried on, “on the ferry, and I… I had her, like…” 

He broke off again, but held his hand up in front of him, miming holding her. 

Hosea could picture it, it wasn’t the first time they’d been forced to take a hostage, unfortunately, Hell, he’d done it himself on occasion, when there was no other way out. Hosea could see it in his mind, vividly. Dutch’s hand about her throat, the gold of his rings showing up bright against her skin, pistol at her temple. 

He could even imagine the way her blood sprayed, catching the side of Dutch’s face, matting his hair with the inside of her skull. 

And perhaps he should hate himself for it, but Hosea couldn’t feel anything but relief. Perhaps he was just a sinner, morally bankrupt, but there was nothing in him but that aching relief, which sapped all the fear from his limbs. Because a dead girl was better than a dead son. Was better than burying any one of their own. 

Was better  _ infinitely _ than burying Dutch. 

Dutch was watching him, had perhaps misinterpreted his expression, because suddenly he was talking, rambling. “I… I didn’t mean to… I…The gun went off. It was an accident. I swear it, Hosea. I swear it.” 

There was something Dutch wasn’t saying. Something… 

“It’s alright,” Hosea said, vaguely, feeling light all of a sudden, or perhaps just lightheaded. “These things happen.” 

It sounded trite even to him, and he hated himself. 

“I… I told her she’d be alright,” Dutch said, voice cracking again. “The gun went off…” 

“I know.” They couldn’t keep goin’ over it and Hosea let himself sink into the eerie calm that’d come over him ever since Jenny had breathed out her life. “We need to get moving.” 

Now it was Dutch’s turn to clutch at him, fingers digging painfully into his shoulder. “Where’s Arthur? He’s here?” 

Hosea shook his head. “Ain’t back yet. Not since he rode out this morning.” 

“He wasn’t… he didn’t go into Blackwater?” 

“He wouldn’t have. Not knowin’ you were there. He wouldn’t have wanted to get under your feet. He probably went huntin’.” 

“He didn’t like the ferry job.” 

“No,” Hosea said, aware that he was humouring Dutch now. “No, he didn’t.” 

Dutch wasn’t wide eyed anymore, had gone cold. “Turned me down when I offered him in on it.” 

“He was workin’ on my job. Still is.” 

Though that ship had probably sailed now.

“ _ You _ didn’t like it either,” Dutch’s fingers were bruisingly sharp now in the hollow of his collarbone. Painful, even. 

Hosea grabbed his wrist automatically. “Dutch-”

“It was a set up, had to be. Whole army of goddamn Pinkertons waitin’ for us. Where is he? Where’s  _ Arthur _ ?”

Hosea shoved him off, hard enough that he stumbled and for a second he thought that Dutch would fall right on his ass. Perhaps tumble into the creek. They just stood starin’ at each other for a moment. 

Hosea felt like if he breathed any harder he might swoon. But it wasn’t fear, or dread, not like it had been. There was rage in his gut like he hadn’t felt in years. 

“You were always fuckin’ crazy,” he spat. And it wasn’t enough. He wanted to say more. But he couldn’t find words for all the fury welling up in him. 

He turned to leave, there were more important things to be doin’ than listening to Dutch’s goddamn mad ramblings, but there were sudden desperate fingers clutching at his arm again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. God… Don’t leave me.” 

Hosea turned back. Dutch was back on that precipice again. Hosea stood rigid, but he let Dutch cup the back of his neck and pull him in close. 

“I am crazy. I am,” Dutch said, on a breath that sounded a half inch from a sob. “I’m… I ain’t thinkin’ clearly. I’m sorry.” 

Hosea pressed their foreheads together. “S’alright. We’ll be alright.” 

“That girl, brother. Her eyes. I didn’t… They, they shot Jenny, and I… I couldn’t help myself.”

Hosea frowned because that wasn’t quite the same as an accident. 

Dutch pulled back, enough to look Hosea in the eyes. “I wasn’t… wasn’t in control. I couldn’t help myself… I told her I wouldn’t hurt her.” 

Hosea could hear in his voice how close he was to the brink. 

And there wasn’t  _ time _ for this. 

“Enough,” Hosea hissed. “Enough. You said yourself, the gun went off. It went off. It was an accident.”

Dutch looked like he might shake his head, so Hosea pressed their foreheads together again, to stop him, or just to brace him, Hosea didn’t know. 

“It  _ was _ ,” Hosea said. “Now, I need you to get a grip, you hear me? I need you. These people need you. We ain’t got time for this.” 

“I don’t… I don’t know what to do.” 

“Don’t gotta do anythin’. Don’t gotta say anything.” And Hosea kissed him. Hard. Like he hadn’t kissed him in months, not since Miss O’Shea had joined their company. There was a metallic tang on his lips, like there was blood stille spattered across him, though Hosea wasn’t sure he wasn’t imagining it. He pulled back, just far enough that he could talk, still close enough that he could feel Dutch’s breath against his skin. “Ain’t need, or  _ time _ , for words now, so you ain’t got to find them. You just gotta follow  _ my _ plan.” 

Hosea kissed him again, lighter this time. “Go on and pack up your things. We’re ridin’ at first light. Anyone who ain’t made it back’ll have to catch us up.” 

“Even Arthur?” Dutch asked, voice still low and wavery, but more like himself. 

Hosea swallowed hard. 

They  _ couldn’t _ wait. Arthur had been known to wander for a week or more. Boy had a roving soul. And while Hosea was sure that Arthur wouldn’t go ranging too far, not with them planning a job, there was still no reason to expect him back that night. 

Hosea hated when he was away.  _ Hated _ it. He wanted everyone he loved to stay within his sights, but Arthur was a grown man, and it would be as much of a crime to keep him locked up close as it would be to cage a wild sparrow. 

“He’ll find us,” Hosea said. “He always has.”

Dutch was still shaking his head. “But… we can’t…” 

“Dutch,” Hosea said, hard, like he could hold him up with just a word. He forced a laugh. “You ain’t never had so much doubt in all your life.  _ Faith. _ Just a little… Have a little in me, at least.” 

Hosea squeezed his wrist, just enough to get a nod back. 

“I do,” Dutch said, softly, “I always have. More’n I ever had in myself.” 

Hosea hated the honesty in that. Hated the fact that he knew it was true. However much Dutch liked to hide it with fine words. 

But there was no time for it now. 

He slapped Dutch’s arm lightly. “Buck up, gunslinger. There’s work to do yet.” 

Dutch nodded again, more decisively this time, and Hosea returned it. 

He stepped back, automatically reaching for his guns to check the rounds. He still had Susan’s shotgun on his back as well, but hopefully he wouldn’t need it. 

“I’m goin’ out to the road, check for stragglers… For Pinkertons, whatever.” 

“Don’t… You can’t. It’s not safe.” 

Hosea sighed. “Dutch, we gotta have a lookout, and I can’t do the heavy liftin’ like I used to. But I’m still a better shot than you.” 

He could see that Dutch was wavering. He knew it made sense. 

He gestured back to camp. “Go on, and get all these people movin’. You can pick me up when you’re ready.” 

Dutch caught his arm again. “If they followed us…” He breathed, hard. “You hit trouble, you come back. You hear me?”

Hosea shook his head. “I ain’t leadin’ a whole goddamn army of Pinkertons back here. You hear shots, you bring every gun we got up to the road to meet me.” He squeezed Dutch’s wrist. “But it ain’t gonna come to that.” 

Dutch held his gaze for a second, and then he kissed him. As hard as Hosea had earlier. Full of teeth, and faith, and all the gunsmoke behind them. When he pulled back, Dutch looked a little more himself. “Go on then, brother. We’ll meet you before daybreak. See if we can’t give the law the slip, one more time.”

“They ain’t stringin’ us up for this,” Hosea said, as full of fire as he could make it. “Not yet.” 

And he left Dutch in the trees, to take his guns and his body and his blood up to the road, and pray that Arthur and the others would find them in time. 

***

The sun was waning before Hosea felt like he could breathe again. 

They’d flown north, riding as hard as the wagons could take, and Hosea would guess that they would pass the border of Ambarino just after nightfall. It was already getting cold. Spring came late in the mountains, he remembered that from his youth. 

They’d left Javier and Charles to ride a few miles behind them, to make sure they weren’t being trailed too closely, and Hosea could just barely make out the figures of John and Arthur up on the trail above them. Occasionally spurring hard to reach any fords or valleys that might be ripe for an ambush, and reporting back. 

Hosea had been relieved when Arthur had joined them just before first light, frantic and worried, but safe. 

Arthur had always had a way about him with people, however much he tried to hide it with gruffness, and Hosea was glad now that he had taught him to use it, to gather information where he could, even if Arthur still balked at outright manipulation. Hosea guessed that was  _ why _ he had such a way with people, there was a truth and honesty about him that was difficult to cultivate. It was why men like Hosea relied on charm. Charm made people  _ want _ to be seduced, even when they knew in their hearts it was a deceit. 

In any case, Arthur had heard tell, on the road, that  _ something _ had happened in Blackwater, and spurred back hard to meet them, desperate for news. 

Hosea couldn’t help the swell of pride in his boys as he watched them, riding side by side keeping them all safe. 

Dutch was at Hosea’s side now, as Hosea drove the wagon. He’d finally succumbed to sleep about fifteen miles back, slumped over against Hosea’s shoulder. Hosea had slipped an arm around him, to keep him from slipping clean out of the wagon’s seat, and he hadn’t stirred since. 

Hosea would wake him, he thought, after nightfall, so they could swap roles. He could feel fatigue beginning to weigh heavily against him, and it wouldn’t do to let any of them slip too far into exhaustion, not when they might still have a fight on their hands. 

When Javier and Charles rode up to pass on their news next, Hosea would tell them not to drop behind again, and to get some rest for a while. John had slept a little, early that morning, so Lenny could ride out and take Arthur’s place at his side. 

No doubt Dutch would send Bill and Micah to ride out. But Bill was still shaken, trembling a little though he tried to hide it. Hosea had been out on the road when he’d ridden in, callin’ for help, with Davey slumped in front of him on the saddle. He hadn’t left Davey’s side since, and even if Hosea had had the heart to send him out, he very much doubted his mind would be on the task. 

And Hosea was loath to give Micah any job at all. 

Dutch sighed heavily at his side, and shifted, tugging his jacket closer around him and leaning further into Hosea. Hosea shifted too, so he could get his fingers into the side of his hair, and will him to sleep a little longer. The position was uncomfortable, but it was practised. 

There were long years and long miles behind them. 

Perhaps when Javier and Charles joined them, he would call a halt for a moment. Allow everyone to change into warmer clothes. The temperature change from Blackwater was marked already. The sky in front of them was dark. Hosea suspected there were storms ahead of them, and this high in the mountains, this early in the year, storms meant snow. 

Neither he nor Dutch had warmer coats with them in the wagon seats. He wasn’t sure where his things had ended up, probably packed into one of the wagons. He wasn’t too worried about it. Dutch knew what was important to him, and would’ve ensured it was stored safe, anything else could be replaced. 

Dutch had a small pack wedged by his feet. When they’d first set out, he’d pulled out a pencil and wad of paper and started writing, trying to find the words to bolster everyone after this disaster. 

It was a common enough sight. There were many long evenings when Hosea had watched him, sprawled across his cot, as he asked his opinion on one word versus another, while they planned for their next con. 

Dutch had a mind for rhetoric, but he liked to plan out, or at least craft, his art on paper first. It helped him get into character. Helped him make sure the words gleamed just as sharp as he wanted. Hosea much preferred to feel his way through a performance. If he was honest, he liked the thrill of it. But Dutch had a tendency to flounder if he was put on the spot, and a tendency to want reassurance that his words would land just right. 

There had been no discussion today. The words had not flowed easily, and Hosea had watched out of the corner of his eye as Dutch had scribbled out sentence after sentence, and then abandoned the script altogether in a huff. 

Hosea knew the feeling. 

Sometimes, there just weren’t words. 

Dutch shifted next to him again, and murmured something that might have been asking the time.

“We ain’t passed the border yet,” Hosea said just as quietly. “Go back to sleep.” 

Dutch hummed something else and stilled, pacified. 

Hosea watched him for another couple of seconds, before he turned his attention back to the road, letting his fingers start to run absently through the side of Dutch’s hair again. 

They would be alright.

They always had been. 

Granted Hosea couldn’t quite remember the last time they’d been quite so hard pressed. But they’d faced tough times before. Definitely faced times when he’d feared he and Dutch and their boys wouldn’t last out the night. 

They’d been hunted. They’d been surrounded. They’d been hurt. 

But they’d always survived. 

Dutch… Good ol’  _ Dutch _ always survived. 

That’s just the way it was. 

Hosea’s fingers snagged as they passed behind Dutch’s ear, and he tugged gently through the knot. 

When he glanced down at his fingers, Hosea saw that they were smeared brown. The blood, missed when Dutch had presumably cleaned himself off in the creek, was clumped and thick and dark, but unmistakable. 

Hosea smudged it across his fingers with his thumb. 

It was appropriate, he supposed. 

Death was death, and it followed them. 

And sometimes the blood on their hands was innocent blood. 

He wondered at what point he’d accepted that as fact. Years back probably, way before he’d ever met Dutch, but the two of them had tried to be better… 

He shook all those thoughts away, and laid his hand back in Dutch’s hair. 

They were still the men who saved orphans. Who had made a family out of outcasts. Who, above all, lived free.

The world might be blood soaked and aching, but it was still theirs. 

And he was damned if he was going to give it up now.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry... I'll write some happy vandermatthews one day!
> 
> Comments are most welcome, even if they're just cursing me!


End file.
